


Beginnings

by trustmeimthe



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Black Ribboners, Gen, Gender Issues, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustmeimthe/pseuds/trustmeimthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how mal joined the black ribboners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

The thing about Black Ribboners -

Well, the thing about them was that as a whole, as a group, generally speaking, they were quite normal. Quite logical. Self-preserving, really. Because that was the whole point: to keep yourself from getting your head chopped off and buried at a crossroads or from getting staked through the heart or from getting strapped to the roof of a church at sunrise.

Black Ribboners, _generally_ , were much less odd than your average bloodsucker.

However, somewhere along the way, the movement had developed fanatics. Perhaps it was the only way they could survive. Someone has to go out and recruit new blood - so to speak - and no self-respecting vampire is likely to turn his back on hot blood and tight bodices and How Things Have Always Been Done without someone really persistent bothering them about it.

So it was that Castle Borogravia had become something of a revolving door of awkward, poorly dressed, uncomfortable Black Ribboner proselytizers, eyes red, occasionally sweating, always nervous at the exposure to the old lifestyle. But, oh, dogged. Certainly.

That’s what Maladicta’s mother always said. _Dogged_. With just a hint of a sneer.

“They’re pets,” she’d add sweetly, “like dogs,” looking down the table at her daughter, hair piled high in a heavy, messy bun, and at her sons, dressed in sleek black and lounging effortlessly on either side of the absurdly long dining table. Mal would be forced to meet her gaze every time. “Never give in to them,” her mother would say, and flip her hair lightly over her shoulder, all collarbones and arrogance. “This is how you are meant to be.”

So naturally Maladicta made her way down to the servants’ kitchen, where they always graciously let their poor fallen brothers eat and wait out whatever storm happened to be passing over, and watched them. Usually there were two at once. They’d sit across from each other and make small talk, clearly only socializing because Fate had thrown them together to pass along the Good Word to their Lost Brothers. They had perfect table manners. They wiped their mouths often, nervously.

Maladicta, for her part, laughed behind her hand. Fate? What a bitch. Brothers? Who cared.

Still, there was one time when she peeked around the door to find not two, but one, a single vampire sitting calmly and collectedly in the midst of the chaotic kitchen. She was eating what appeared to be fruit salad with a sleek expression of disdain.

 _She_ was eating. Maladicta almost fell over. They’d always been men, before.

And when the vampire looked up, caught her eye, and smiled - not a particularly nice smile, but knowing, pleased, with a trace of familiar hunger - Maladicta stepped forward and sat across from her, lips pursed, brow furrowed. Curiosity made her fingers itch.

“You didn’t think it went both ways,” the other said coolly, flashing teeth, “did you?”

Maladicta shook her head.

Laughing, the other vampire inclined her head. “Well,” she said, “you’re young yet. But I do have to tell you - you’re not losing much. Gaining, more than anything, really. The chance to get out of this castle, for one. You know your house will fall soon enough. You’ve got to move with the times.”

And Maladicta was about to bristle, to say that no, her house was strong, her mother was strong, her brothers would destroy any threat, when she realized that that wasn’t the point. Their house would be destroyed, certainly, but it might not be by physical means. They were becoming, if not obsolete, then quaint; if not quaint, then less and less dangerous with each passing year. Someday they would be jokes. And someday her brothers would die at the end of a sharp piece of wood, just like her father, and it would just be her. And her mother. And baths in virgin’s blood.

So she cupped her chin in her hand and leaned across the table. Her grin was sly, slightly edgy, and full of teeth. “Teach me how to move with the times,” she dared.

And the other laughed at her. But Maladicta didn’t mind too much.

They met twice more before the Black Ribboner had to go. All very innocent. She’d given Maladicta pamphlets. She’d tousled her hair, just to annoy her, and called her Mal. When Maladicta swatted her away, she’d laughed again and said, “There we are. Find something to distract yourself. Anger, if that’s what works for you. I’m partial to pride, myself, but … ”

She clapped Maladicta on the back before she left, a sudden and surprisingly masculine gesture, and left before Maladicta’d quite had a chance to get her bearings. It was an impulsive decision as a result. And yet.

And yet the look on her mother’s face at the sight of the crisp black ribbon pinned to her chest confirmed that it was all - the pain, the shakes, the nightmares - entirely worth it. She sneered at her brothers, and went into town to the market. For once, she wasn’t chased or yelled at, although she was looked at strangely; there weren’t many Black Ribboners in Borogravia. She exchanged money for a large bag of coffee beans and a portable coffee engine, on a whim, and carried them to a home that already did not feel quite like home, remembering condescending laughter and grinning at her own feet.

“Don’t think you’re _better_ than us,” her mother snarled, but Mal just smiled back. It was true, she thought. Pride was so much better than anger.


End file.
